Christmas at Jesse's
by TrenchcoatsAreSexy
Summary: As Andrea is called out of town and leaves Brock with Jesse, she reflects on the troubled history of the Cantillo family.


**WARNINGS: Implied child abuse, one instance of implied child sexual abuse**

**Christmas at Jesse's**

The date was December 24th, but Jesse Pinkman hadn't been keeping track. The days had faded into a blur since Mr. White had stopped by to give him his money. He spent his time sitting in front of the TV, half of the time without the volume on or even with the picture off entirely. His friends had stopped visiting, and he subsided on the things he would drag himself to buy at the grocery store. He'd gotten too paranoid to even order pizza anymore, worried that they would be hired hitmen from… somewhere and somebody, coming for him.

He jumped up when he heard the doorbell. As he wandered, in a bit of a daze, he wondered if he should grab the gun. Then again, if Mr. White had wanted him dead, it would have happened by now. It had been months since he had seen the man. He'd stopped checking the obituaries.

When he got to the door and looked through the peephole, he was surprised to see Andrea's big brown eyes staring back at him.

He stuck his hands in his hair to try and make himself look more presentable, before pulling the door open.

* * *

What had brought Andrea Cantillo to Jesse's door was a disappointment that followed on the coattails of a line of disappointments. She had awoken that morning in a pretty good mood, if she was being completely honest. She'd get down to the store and get the last few gifts for Brock, wrap them while he was in bed and maybe go run out and buy some more stuff to make Christmas cookies. She was still smarting from the break-up with Jesse, but she'd told herself that she really ought to be used to it by now. Jesse had been into something from the start. Probably drugs. It was probably better that she stayed away from him anyway.

Didn't make it hurt any less. He was the most decent guy she'd been with, and the first one who had had the time of day for Brock.

She sighed, walking to the bathroom and pulling her hair into a ponytail. That was when her phone had rang, and she'd picked it up before looking at the Caller ID.

"Hey."

"Andrea? Honey?"

Her heart dropped. It was her mother. This couldn't mean anything good.

"Hey, Mama. What's going on?"

"Andrea. Listen, I hate to call you like this but I'm… I really need a ride outta here. Things have gone… well, to shit with Darryl and… Well…"

"Wait. Darryl? What happened to Kyle?" Andrea asked, before she reminded herself that she probably knew the answer.

"Kyle went back to his wife. But Andrea, listen, you have to help me. This jackshit cut my breaks. Won't let me go. I need to get out of here."

"All right Mama, I'll drop Brock off at a sitter and be right up. Where are you?"

"543 Owens Avenue."

"Okay… And where's that?" Andrea prompted.

"North Vegas, honey."

"North Vegas." Andrea's tone was dry. "You want me to come get you from Las Vegas. You do know that's an eight-hour drive? And that I need to… well, sleep? And that it's Christmas Eve?"

"Andrea, listen. I'm your mother. You need to come get me. When do I ever ask you for anything?"

Andrea held the phone away from her face to curse silently.

"But what about Brock?"

"Andrea, you need to come get me. I'm serious. He's crazy. He's at the bar right now but when he gets home, he'll be completely pissed. You have to come get me."

Andrea drug her hand over her face.

"All right. I'll come get you. Just hang tight until I get there."

"Thank you baby. I love you!"

Andrea hung up and balled her hands into fists. That woman could not be serious! She chose this day of all days to come crawling out of the woodwork again? The woman was a mess! She'd kicked Andrea to the curb when she had gotten pregnant with Brock, had barely spoken to her since then, and now… now!

Who the hell was going to even babysit Brock on Christmas Eve? Her grandmother was in Florida, visiting some cousin or another. All the sitters would be home with their families.

There was only one person left.

* * *

"Jesse. Hey. Listen. I know it's Christmas Eve…" Andrea started, before sighing. "Let me cut to the chase. My mother… well… I have to go rescue her from some jerk. In Las Vegas. North Las Vegas, actually. I can't really bring Brock with me because… well, that's kind of obvious. I was wondering… I… could you watch him? Please? Just for today and tomorrow? Then I'll be back. I swear. I hope I didn't cut into your…"

"No, hey…" Jesse cut in. "I wasn't going to do anything anyway. I just… are you sure you really want me watching him? I mean… I don't really… I haven't really done this before."

"Brock's easy," Andrea said quickly, taking a step into Jesse's house as he moved back. She led Brock, who had been silent so far, inside. "You know him. I mean, he doesn't get into much. I just… Jesse. It's Christmas. I don't want him to spend it in a car while my mother throws things at her boyfriend and he gets drunk and throws things at her. I can give you the key to my house, you could stay there… I know we're not… we haven't been together a while but can you please come through for me this one time?"

Jesse was about to protest again before he gazed over at Brock.

"Hey," he said to the boy, "How's it going, little man?" He reached out and offered a fist-pound, which Brock silently accepted. Jesse looked back at his ex-girlfriend. "Um, sure… Yeah, let's make it your house." He didn't want to tell her that people may or may not be coming to kill him at his own home. "I mean, your tree's there and everything and Brock's own bed, right? I'm kind of lacking in the furniture department." He smiled.

Andrea gripped Jesse tightly in a hug.

"You're my hero. Seriously. You're the best ever."

"Uh, okay," Jesse replied with a nervous smile. "Let me just grab a change of clothes and some stuff real quick, and I'll be right down."

A few moments later, he had shoved a couple of T-shirts, two pairs of boxers, and some pants into a backpack and had returned to the bottom floor.

"All right. I'm ready to go."

* * *

When Jesse was let into Andrea's house, he smiled despite himself as he took in the tree, decked out in lights and ornaments. When Andrea reached over and switched on the lights, his heart beat faster and he beamed just as brightly.

"Wow," he whispered to her. "It's beautiful." She shrugged.

"I try. I just feel like an…" She looked down at Brock as she seemed to stop herself from cursing. "A jerk for running out on him on Christmas Eve."

"Hey, listen." Jesse reached out and gently cupped her wrist. "It's okay. I've got it covered." Andrea's cheek flushed. "We'll have a great time."

"Okay I… I'll hurry back," Andrea promised. "Brock, honey, I promise I'll be back in a few days." Brock looked from Andrea to Jesse silently, his eyes widening in nervousness.

"But it's Christmas," he pleaded softly.

"I know." Andrea's voice broke. "I promise I'll make it up to you."

"Hey Brock," Jesse called, "Maybe we could go out and pick out a new game for you? We could try it out together?"

Now that got his attention, even though Brock was still looking at Andrea with trepidation.

Andrea reached out and hugged her son tightly.

"I'll be back before you know it. You'll be having so much fun with Jesse that you barely even realize I left, okay?"

Brock managed a small smile and nodded.

"Okay." He hugged her back. "I love you Mommy."

Jesse watched them, feeling his heart break. He loved them both. Was there any chance that he could actually ever make it work in the long-term? That he could come back to Andrea and be what she needed? Maybe they could run away together, go somewhere where no one knew him, where no one was looking for him.

Andrea darted around, getting a bag together, before hugging Brock once more like she didn't want to let go. When she turned and left, getting into her car and driving away, there was a long silence. Brock looked as if he wanted to start crying again, but there was a wariness about him, as if he wasn't sure that he could or should.

Jesse knelt down.

"Hey, Brock," he whispered. "Why don't we find some fun stuff to do? We could watch some movies or… well, we could try and make some cookies if you want."

Brock raised his eyes to Jesse slowly.

"Okay," he offered quietly. "Could we make cookies?"

"Sure, kid." Jesse beamed, reaching out and gently squeezing Brock's shoulder. "I don't promise that I'll be any good at it, but… Let's go for it. What kind of cookies do you want to make?"

Brock shrugged.

"I don't know. How many kinds are there? I want…" As he thought about it, a little smile started to appear on his face. "I want blue sprinkles. And red sprinkles and… um… chocolate?"

"Sure. We can definitely try all of that. Let's go see what your mom has in her cabinets."

He took steps towards the kitchen, feeling as if he was walking into a place that he hadn't been in years, but that somehow felt like home. He dared to imagine himself living here, being awoken in the mornings by Brock running down the steps, or helping to make breakfast for him, getting kisses on the cheek from Andrea in the morning.

It seemed like a dream or like a fantasy that he couldn't quite reach, or didn't quite deserve.

Jesse opened up a few cabinets, gathering ingredients together with as much enthusiasm as his young charge. Andrea had a pretty well-stocked kitchen, at least insofar as making cookies went.

Making them was another issue altogether, however. Jesse had done some limited baking in his youth, helping his mother with similar things, cookies and cupcakes and muffins, but that had stopped about the time that he had started to rebel and his parents had had a lot less interest in spending time with him (the feeling being mutual). He had helped his aunt in the kitchen sometimes during his time living there, but after too long she had started to forget what she was going to make by the time she got started.

There was still some of that locked in the back of his mind, though, somewhere that hadn't been completely shut out in his past year. Skills for much more innocent times.

Eventually, Jesse and Brock pulled up instructions on the internet and printed them out, and a short while later they stepped back from the glowing orange oven with pride.

Jesse clapped his hands together.

"And in a little while, we can eat these."

"All of them?" Brock inquired, eyes wide.

"Not all at once, kiddo," Jesse replied, reaching out and tousling Brock's hair. "We need to spread it out a little."

"Why?"

Jesse grinned.

"Cause you'd get sick." At that, his face fell, but he pulled Brock closer to him so that the boy wouldn't see it. He was being chased by flashes of the past that he didn't want to remember, memories of Brock lying in a hospital bed with tubes sticking out of him, looking so pale and small. Jesse had been convinced that the boy had been dying, that he was going to let out his last breaths and Jesse's only answer would be to blame himself, to hate himself.

But here Brock was, warm and alive and bright-eyed. Jesse had to encourage this, at least for as long as he was in the picture. He hugged him, lovingly ruffled his hair again until Brock squirmed away, giggling.

"Jesse!" the boy chastised, reaching up to "fix" his hair and only succeeding in messing it up more. Jesse laughed.

"Okay, what do you want to do while the cookies bake? Want to watch a Christmas movie? Which ones you're favorite?"

Brock sucked his bottom lip as he seemed to consider it at great length.

"The Grinch," he announced, beaming. "The Grinch is pretty awesome."

"Old one or that weird new one?"

Brock looked at Jesse like he was stupid.

"Old one."

* * *

Andrea's car was caught in a traffic jam on the highway when she realized that her hands were shaking. Why was she so nervous? She didn't even really care what the woman thought anymore, did she? Laurel Cantillo had given up rights to Mother of the Year a very long time ago. Andrea didn't need to dwell on that.

But memories started floating in unbidden, filtering in now that she'd turned the radio down and didn't have the scenery for distraction.

_Andrea was ten, and Tomas was a little baby, still huddled up in his crib. She loved to run and peek over at him, see how his little fingers wiggled and how he kicked his little legs. He was like a baby doll come to life. She wished she could pick him up and really go play with him but her mother had said no._

_Not that it really mattered, because her mother wasn't home right now. She was at her boyfriend's house, at Julio's, and Andrea was supposed to be watching Tomas. Her mother had just told her not to open the door for anybody._

_She was hungry but she didn't know how to make anything, so she decided she was just going to try and put some food on the stove like her grandmother did when she came over. But soon the alarm was blaring in her ears, screaming at her, and she was crying…_

She and Tomas had lived with her grandmother for a few years after that. Her mother had come around sometimes, but it had been sparingly, and she always had to rush off to meet with whatever Tom, Dick or Raul she was dating at the time.

Then when Andrea had been fourteen, Laurel had walked back into their lives, demanding the chance to raise them again.

_Andrea was curled up on the top bunk. Little toddler Tomas slept on the bunk below. Neither moved a muscle as the screaming and crashing rocked the floor below. She wished she could cover her ears with the pillow entirely, but it didn't work._

_Tomas let out a little cry. _

"_Is that little brat of yours up again?" a male voice raged. "I'll show him…"_

"_Tomas!" Andrea cried. She was down the ladder in three stumbling steps. When she hit the ground, her foot twisted and hurt. "Don't hurt him, please!"_

Andrea shuddered as she moved forward. She hadn't been able to protect him in the end. The gangs had gotten him first, they had twisted his innocence and really, they had killed him before he was even physically dead.

She had to save Brock from the same fate, somehow. But it always seemed harder by the day. More and more impossible.

She drove on. There were so many miles left to go.

* * *

"So, wait, okay. I owe you five hundred dollars now."

Brock giggled and grinned widely.

"How come?"

"Because I landed on this, and it belongs to you," Jesse explained, tapping the Monopoly board with his fingers and flashing a matching smile. "So I have to pay you rent." He reached out and handed the fake money to his young charge, who stuck it under his own side of the board. Jesse has chosen the shoe, after briefly considering the hat but ultimately rejecting it. Brock has chosen the little metal dog.

"Who's winning?" Brock inquired. It was not the first time he had asked, and he did seem to keep forgetting. But Jesse laughed and pointed to Brock with a smile. He would let him win regardless. "Me?" Brock let out a little giggle.

"Your roll," Jesse reminded him, handing over the die. He pondered his next words a few minutes before he said them. "You know, Brock. I really… I like hanging out with you and your mom."

"You do?" Brock asked, dramatically rolling the die in between his cupped hands.

"Yeah." Jesse smiled again. "I'm sorry that I haven't been around recently. I've been busy. With boring grown-up stuff that is way less fun than hanging out with you." Brock looked up and beamed before letting the die fall on the board. "You got a four."

Brock stuck out his tongue.

"I can read it, Jesse!"

Jesse reached out and tousled Brock's hair.

"I know you can, kiddo. I'm just teasing."

* * *

How did that poem she'd learned back in high school, on one of the days she'd paid attention… how had it ended? "Miles to go before I sleep."

She had miles to go before she slept, that was for sure, all black tar road that looked identical like it had been cloned or something.

Andrea felt like she had been swimming, just looking for land for so long. So many thoughts of just wanting to give up, and hell, she would have given up too if it hadn't been for Brock.

She shivered, hard, felt her hands tremble on the steering wheel. She thought of how Brock was doing back at the house.

She thought of Jesse.

_Even that first time, Jesse had been so gentle when he'd touched her, the way he'd guided her into the bed and held her. Even when they were nothing but a one-night stand. _

_He'd liked kissing her, at least he'd seemed to, and he liked to come in close and snuggle and wrap his arms around her. When they had become more, when it had been more than that, he'd still liked to be close, to kiss her neck, to hold her tight and whisper nice things._

"_Hi babe." She remembered waking up and hearing those words in her ear, so different from what it usually was. Hell, it usually was…_

* * *

"_Andrea, get your shit."_

"_What?"_

"_Andrea. Get your shit. Get out."_

_She jolted upright, still half undressed, pulling her shirt on as she tried to figure out what was going on. _

"_What's going on?"_

_Jack, that was his name, Jack, was looking down at her, disgusted. _

"_It's your fucking kid. He's sick or something. Go get him."_

"_Wait… what…" Andrea got out of the bed and headed for downstairs, where she'd set Brock to sleep the night before. He was shivering, retching. "Brock, baby, let's go home."_

"_I don't like him," Brock whispered. "He's mean to you."_

Those words had sent shivers down her spine. She hadn't ever seen that man again, though most of the later ones weren't much better. She had stopped bringing Brock around them, though.

Brock meeting Jesse had been an accident. She could still remember the wariness in his eyes, the way she had tried to get him away from Jesse so the new man wouldn't view him as a nuisance and yell and be cruel.

The way she'd asked nervously, "You're okay… with kids?"

And then there had been that little fist-pound. The way that Jesse had smiled at Brock.

The dinner, later that week. Jesse laughing and asking him questions, showing him things and indulging him even as Andrea had nervously interceded, "Brock, let Jesse eat his dinner."

A flash of another man, before Jack. A time Brock hadn't spoken up, had just looked down.

"_Richie? What's your tattoo say?" Brock was leaning over in his chair, eager to see, curious._

"_It says 'fuck off'," the man growled back. "I swear, Andrea, don't you have a fucking sitter for this brat? I didn't sign up for fucking 'Richie this', 'Richie that'. Tell the kid to keep quiet or I'm gone."_

Andrea pressed her face against the steering wheel and swallowed. And drove.

* * *

Jesse had never considered just how time-consuming having a child really was. Brock seemed to be here, there and everywhere, a never-ending bundle of energy.

But that helped him forget about everything else, helped him drown out all the pain and fear that had been boxing him in recently.

They ate the cookies. They watched a show on TV about dinosaurs. They played against each other in three or four video games. Before Jesse had really gotten a handle on all of it, he noticed that it was nine o' clock.

"Hey, kiddo," he said with a smile. "You better get to bed so Santa can come." Brock looked up with pleading eyes.

"Can't I just stay up?"

"Nah, that's not how it works, Brock." Jesse laughed and reached out, giving him a gentle hug. "He won't come unless he sees that you're in bed."

"How come?"

Jesse shrugged.

"Honestly… I don't know. That's just how he operates. Maybe…. Maybe he gets nervous if people are watching him." He placed a handle on Brock's back and slowly ushered him up the steps and into his room.

"Are we going to church tomorrow, Jesse?" Brock piped up, once he had snuggled in under the covers and had wrapped his arms around a fluffy brown teddy bear.

Jesse stopped in his tracks. It hadn't crossed his mind.

"Uh… Sure. Why not?"

Brock brightened as he rolled over on his side.

"Cool," he mumbled.

"G'night, Brock," Jesse told him softly.

"G'night, Jesse."

* * *

Andrea rang the doorbell. Hopefully this was the right damn house, because if her mother had sent her across states just to give her the wrong address, she might just end up pulling her out of the correct house when she found it and thrashing her.

The woman had screwed up too many times. She hadn't even shown her face at Tomas' funeral_. It was her fault that he had been playing with gang members when he should have been playing with G.I. Joe's, she could have at least showed up to say goodbye._

She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her jeans. _Merry Christmas. I ought to be home with my son, but nope. I'm here instead. How wonderful. _

The door opened and Laurel Cantillo emerged. While she shared Andrea's lightly-tanned skin and black hair, she had pulled hers into a haphazard bun and was generally looking very much worse for wear. There were dark circles under her eyes and her nostrils were marked with little red bumps that looked like they had been almost engrained in.

"Hey, Mom," Andrea murmured. "You ready to go? Is he home? Let's go."

"Yeah, he's home." Laurel waved one arm in the air. "Come in. I need to get my shit. How much can you help me carry?"

Andrea stared at her.

"You can carry it yourself, Mom. I drove out here to get you. I think my part here is done. Then you can go live with Nana again because you're not living with me."

"You've got to be kidding me, Andrea. You're not going to make me go live with that old bitch! What, you've got your man there?"

"Are you drunk?" Andrea snapped. "Are you…"

"Laurel!" called a deep voice, "Who is that out there? Tell them we don't want any damn magazines!"

Andrea ogled at her, stuck in her spot. Was this what she had been becoming, before Jesse? A host of dead-end boyfriends who would lay waste to everything and everyone she actually cared about? How had her mother let herself become this?

"Get your stuff, Mama. I'm serious. It's Christmas Eve. It's time to go. I want to go spend the holidays with my kid. Novel concept, I know."

"Yeah, yeah. All right. Let me just have a cigarette," Laurel grumbled. "I'll be right back." She sauntered back into the house as Andrea stood, fuming. She hoped Brock was okay. Jesse had to be taking good care of him – Jesse was good, wasn't he?

_Their mother had just left them with her boyfriend. This one was named… what was his name? Donavon… The door was still swinging. At least it seemed that way._

_He had seemed nicer at first. He didn't yell at Tomas as much and he even tried to talk to her. Helped her with homework some time._

_Where was Tomas? Tomas was sleeping. Or out with friends. Or in the basement. Or somewhere not there. _

"_Hey." Donavon was trying to get her attention. "You ready for high school?"_

"_Oh yeah," Andrea replied. "I mean… totally. Piece of cake, right?"_

"_I'm sure all those boys will be looking at you."_

_Andrea giggled self-consciously._

"_No, I mean. I'm serious. Come over here. Let me show you something. But you can't tell anyone, you got it?"_

"_What is it?" Andrea asked. Her fingers played against the strap of her backpack. _

"_First you have to promise not to tell. Or else your mom might flip, right? And then I couldn't come around anymore."_

"_Okay… Sure. I promise."_

Andrea's head snapped up. What the hell was taking the woman so long?

She put her hands in her pockets and shuddered. She didn't want all this shit rattling around in her brain. She could never tell Brock any of this stuff. God, she hoped he really was safe with Jesse. She should call him. After all, this whole rigmarole would probably take a while.

She pulled out her cell phone and selected "Jesse" from her Contacts List.

He answered on the second ring.

"Hey, Andrea. How's it going? Did you get there all right?"

"Yeah. I'm here," she said, exasperation seeping through. "Where's Brock?"

"Sleeping. I'm about to put all the presents out." She could hear the fondness in Jesse's voice. "He didn't want to sleep but I think he's passed out now. He was exhausted."

"Aww," Andrea cooed. "I wish I was there so bad. I wish I could hug him."

"Well, hurry back," Jesse told her, "But not too fast. I want you to drive safe. And don't worry about us. Me and Brock are having a great time. I better get all this done before he wakes up, though, okay? I don't want to ruin the surprise."

"Okay, Jesse," Andrea told him. She hesitated, then added, "Love you."

He paused, then responded with, "Love you too, Andrea. Be safe."

* * *

After Jesse had finished placing each gift beneath the tree, he slept on Andrea's bed, curled up in her scent. It was so peaceful, so quiet there. It had been so long since he had felt that way, so safe, so right. Maybe now that he was out, maybe he could be together with them again. They both seemed to want him back and that realization – he was wanted – sent him shaking slightly as he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

"Okay, so you have everything now?" Andrea asked. "I'm not coming back again."

Laurel burst out laughing.

"Andrea, cosi, you are seriously mistaken about who's the mother and who's the daughter, aren't you?"

Andrea glared at her.

"Just get into the passenger's side, put your shit in the back seat and shut up for the rest of this ride. I swear to God. And as soon as Nana gets back, you can go live with her."

"Why are you always so angry? I swear, even as a little girl… You were always ordering me around, telling me what to do and what not to do. Oh, you used to make everyone so mad…"

"By everyone, you mean those hijo de putas who beat the shit out of me and Tomas, you mean?" Andrea fired back. Laurel looked appalled.

"That language just doesn't even suit you, Andrea."

Andrea reached out and turned on the radio, deciding that she was going to ignore her for the rest of the ride. Otherwise, she might just leave her somewhere on the edge of the state to fend for herself. There'd be a certain poetry to it.

* * *

Brock was sleeping. Peacefully at first, not dreaming of anything and then dreaming of nice things. The time he'd gone to the zoo and gotten to pet a sheep. When he'd swum in the pool out by his grandmother's house. Nice things.

Then, as memories do, he started to drift a little further back.

_She dated Matt for longer than most of the other ones. He was around the house a lot. Brock didn't always know how to talk to him, though. He was a student; he always had his laptop around and was always telling Brock's mom that he was working on a paper. _

_Brock didn't know much about college but it seemed like Matt was always pretty busy. He didn't want to interrupt him but he wanted to know him, too. If he was always going to be around. He seemed to really like Brock's mom and things seemed to be going well. They smiled at each other a lot. Maybe they would get married or something. Matt seemed to like to mention it. _

_Brock peeked over his head one day, craning over the railing on the stairs and trying to look at his laptop. There were a lot of different pictures on there, buildings and cars. _

"_Hi, Matt," he piped up._

_Matt turned around._

"_Oh, hey Brock."_

"_Matt, uh…" Brock took every ounce of courage he had to speak up. "Listen if you… uh… marry my mom then, uh… would you be my dad… right?"_

_Matt looked at him, confused for a moment, before laughing._

"_I don't know who your dad is, but it sure as hell isn't me. Now go run along and play. I'm busy." He turned back around to stare at his laptop again._

"_But I thought…" Brock started quietly. He didn't move, couldn't move, still keep staring._

_Matt turned around again. _

"_Can't you go somewhere? I'm not going to be your damn dad! Your dad didn't want you and honestly, I can see why!"_

Brock burst awake, sitting upright and immediately shaking, bursting into tears.

Jesse's feet were fast on the hallway floor, and he jolted into Brock's room.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. "Bad dream?" Brock nodded, and Jesse gently put a hand on his arm. "You want to tell me about it?"

Brock shook his head, then very slowly ventured, "Jesse… I… uh…"

"Brock? What's wrong? You can ask me anything, okay?" Jesse moved to look him directly in the eye.

"C-could you be my dad?" Brock looked away.

Jesse reached out and gently tipped up his chin. He was surprised, and more touched than he could really put into coherent words or thoughts. He was struck only with the realization that he needed to be back with Andrea and Brock. That that was where he belonged, where his soul and his heart were.

"Sure. Okay… I guess you really want me to stick around, huh?" Jesse smiled at him. Brock nodded, very slowly and nervously. "All right. Listen." He looked down into Brock's eyes again. "I have to talk some stuff over with your mom once she gets back, all right? And that might take some time. But what's not going to change, ever, is that I love you and I love your mom and that you two are the greatest part of my life. So I'm… I think everything's going to be all right." He reached out and hugged Brock to him. After a few moments he slowly drew back. "You want to go downstairs and open your presents? It's a little early… but…" In all truth, it was 5AM, but Brock needed it now more than he'd need it at 8 or 9. "But let's do this."

He took his smaller hand in his and guided him downstairs.

"Wait," Jesse cautioned, fiddling around and finally finding what he was looking for – a video camera. He flicked back the switch and set the tape rolling. "Go crazy."

* * *

When Andrea let herself and her mother into the house, it was 8PM and the living room was covered in the remains of wrapping paper and half-opened toys.

She smiled.

"Jesse?" she called.

Jesse's form appeared in the doorway.

"Hey, Andrea," he said, walking up to her and hugging her as Laurel rolled her eyes. When he let her go, he smiled and asked, "This must be your mother."

"And you must be...?" Laurel prompted.

"Jesse. Andrea's boyfriend." He looked over at Andrea for confirmation. She looked surprised a moment, and then smiled.

"Yeah, Mama. This is my boyfriend, Jesse."

"You made it. Brock's upstairs sleeping – totally puttered out - but… He liked all the gifts. Got it all on tape, too," Jesse told them. "He's doing good."

Andrea leaned in to press her face against Jesse's chest. She ignored everything else. Anything else.

"Merry Christmas, Jesse," she whispered. "Next year will be better."

"Next year," Jesse agreed. "It will."


End file.
